


Lonely Moonlight

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Ryden, Song Inspired, lonely moonlight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7415422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been years since the split, and Ryan's trying to convince himself that he's moved on from anything and everything that happened in his past. But when he runs into Brendon but chance, history is bound to repeat itself...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> So idk I guess I just rediscovered Ryan's song and had to write this? It's pretty much set where everything happens as in real life, but Brendon isn't married and they're both single. Enjoy :)

Ryan sifted through the racks of clothing, searching absentmindedly for a new suit, or a new tie or... He wasn’t entirely sure why he was here. He’d been perusing the main streets, walking in a daze. His purpose wasn’t clear to... anyone, himself included - but he was enjoying it. It was almost therapeutic; the people and the cars and the buildings. Cities never change, no matter what.

No matter how many changes Ryan went through, no matter what struggles or triumphs he went through, the city would always stay the same. There was a comfort in that, for sure.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll take the red blazer, thanks.” The voice came from over his shoulder, by the counter.

Ryan stilled. He didn’t dare turn around.

He knew that voice.

_Please don’t let it be him._

Maybe he was mistaken. Plenty of people had similar voices, right? This guy must just have a really similar voice. Ryan busied himself in the clothes isle.

Maybe if the guy hadn’t said anything else, if he’d just left the store, Ryan might’ve been able to convince himself that it was someone else.

But then he spoke again.

“Yeah, we’re playing a show tomorrow night, might have to show this off.” Ryan tensed again. The laugh that accompanied the voice was so distinctive, he knew... he knew.

Ryan kept his head down, contemplating his options.

He could just stay here. It was likely that he’d just leave, and wouldn’t even see him. He didn’t ever have to know... There was an ache in Ryan’s chest.

Could he let him walk away? Again? Could he live with himself if he let what was now right in front of him slip away?

“Thanks a bunch, see ya.”

He was leaving the store. Heading towards the door...

Ryan felt himself move, heard himself calling out. “Hey! Brendon!”

It went against every moral fibre in his body. Ryan didn’t call out to people, didn’t wave them down across the store. And he most definitely didn’t do it for Brendon. Brendon, who he hadn’t spoken to in years.

Ryan watched as Brendon halted. He studied the muscles in his back, as they tightened. He watched him turn on his heel, slowly, slowly.

He’d definitely recognised his voice. He knew who he was about to be face to face with.

And yet he still turned around.

“Ryan?”

The deep brown eyes searched his own, darting back and forth and up and down, widened in a state of shock, but not horror, thank god he wasn’t horrified to see him.

Ryan searched his face, studied the slightly surprised expression. His hair was different. It had been cut and styled and - and it was nice. It was really, really nice. His face hadn’t changed, though. There were still the same narrow cheekbones and glowing forehead and obnoxious nose and - and his lips. His lips were parted slightly, and even from the few feet away Ryan was standing he thought he could see the breath as it passed through them, through the full, voluptuous lips.

Ryan remembered days when that face - those eyes and that nose and those lips - were his. They used to belong to him and only to him. He remembered staring into those eyes, sparks of laughter dancing in them. He remembered the press of their noses, the soft touch as their lips collided, as those lips explored his and -

He pulled his gaze away from them.

He felt his heart race as he watched Brendon’s stare - at his own face, his nose, his mouth - and felt the remnants of want and lust pooling in his stomach, creeping up his throat. He swallowed them down. Cleared his throat.

“How - How’ve you been?” Ryan struggled to fight any strain out of his voice, fought to keep his eyes on Brendon’s... not anywhere else on his body.

“Good. Good. How - how about you?” Ryan watched as Brendon swallowed.

“Yeah, good. Good...” He trailed off. What could he say to Brendon? What kind of conversation could he even offer to someone he hadn’t seen in  - in so many years? “I, uh, I’ve heard that Panic’s really taken off, eh? I’ve listened to the albums and stuff. They’re good. Uh, I mean. Congrats, man.”

“Really? I thought that it... wasn’t your style?” Brendon’s eyes had lit up at mention of music, and Ryan tried not to think - he really did - that the spark in his eyes used to dance when he’d looked at Ryan, when they’d held hands, when -

He needed to stop. It was over - long over. Brendon was surely over it. Why wasn’t he?

“Yeah, it wouldn’t be the kind of music I’d make, but I can still appreciate good music when I hear it. You’d have to be tone deaf not to realise the creative genius behind some of those songs.”

Brendon smiled, genuine and easy. “Thanks, man. That means a lot, actually. I mean, I struggled to gain momentum at first, y’know? There was a patch where I couldn’t write anything worthwhile, writing on my own was so different. I was kind of lost without my main lyricist.”

Ryan felt an age-old wound ache. He’d often wished for the days when they’d sat around together, music flowing from their fingers, when it was easy. “Yeah, I. I struggled for a bit without the band as well, I’d say.”

Brendon’s brows furrowed briefly. “Hey - do you reckon - we should, I mean. Would you like to try writing together, again? We could - no, never mind. I couldn’t  - we couldn’t -“

Ryan cut him off. “I, hey. Yeah. That sounds like a good idea. Refreshing, y’know? I haven’t written with anyone in years... I mean, we could just try it some time? What could go wrong?”

They both knew the weight behind the requests, the history between them, the potential waiting before them. All else aside, they’d been great at writing music together - they always had been. If nothing more, Ryan would love to go back to that.

“Really? You’d want to write with me again?” Brendon asked tentatively.

“Absolutely. We always made a good team, right?” Ryan tried a smile.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. We should definitely...” Ryan watched as an idea formed on Brendon’s face. “Look, we’re leaving here in a few days and we’re playing shows every night from tomorrow. This is ridiculous, I mean you probably have plans, which is fine, no worries, but it’d really be easier for all of us if - if you came round to my apartment today?”

Ryan felt his pulse quickening, watched as Brendon adjusted the bag in his hands and shifted nervously on his feet, knowing that it was a strange request, or it would’ve been, to any other musician.

“Sure. I - I don’t have any plans, and it’d be easier while you’re in town and - and yeah. Let’s - let’s go.”

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna - I don’t wanna impose on you or anything - I don’t mean to force you to write with me and it’s a little strange that I’m - “

“Let’s just - just go. We might as well capitalise on whatever time we have right? It just makes sense to start writing when we can, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Right. I, uh, should we catch a taxi?”

The drive was short, only ten minutes or so. He and Brendon made polite, general conversation on the way, any initial awkwardness disappearing with friendly compliments and casual inquiries. Ryan asked about the tour, about music, and told Brendon about how Jon was doing, where Ryan was living, the music he was working on.

It was strange, to talk, just as friends. They’d never managed being just friends for very long at all.

Brendon’s apartment block was a flash, high rise building amongst towers and skyscrapers. The exterior was painted a pristine white, with gold highlights accentuating the balconies and window frames climbing all the way up to the sky. Ryan tried not to compare it to his own, which was modest, a bleak grey concrete block.

“I guess those tours and album sales really help the budget, huh?” Ryan attempted to joke, feeling a vindictive part of himself swell as he saw the blush creeping onto Brendon’s cheeks.

“It was my manager’s choice. I didn’t really get a say.” Brendon shrugged, indifferent.

“Fair enough,” was all Ryan managed to say.

They entered the building, the interior reception as grand and lavish as the outer. Brendon flashed a smile at the receptionist, waving a hand as they entered the elevator.

The small space of the elevator forced them closer together, bare inches between them. Ryan’s pulse quickened of its own accord as he felt the heat wave radiating from Brendon’s skin. He’d always been so warm. Things hadn’t really changed that much.

The elevator came to a halt, and the silver doors slid apart, revealing the apartment beyond.

Brendon stepped out of the elevator - Ryan in tow - and gestured wildly around the space. “Welcome to casa de Brendon.”

There was a goofy smile on his face, one that was familiar, far too familiar. Ryan felt his own lips curving upwards. “You don’t even speak Spanish.” He chuckled.

“Hey, I could learn. Did you know I tried to learn French once? And then I tried to write a song in French as well? It didn’t go very, ‘cause I didn’t actually understand the language.”

“Why the hell did you try and write the song in French?” Ryan choked out through his laugher.

“I don’t know!” Brendon exclaimed, with more wild gestures. “None of it made any sense!”

Ryan smiled at the man before him. He was so much more like the Brendon he once knew when he was in his own home, far more eccentric and playful. Far more stupid, Ryan thought with a smile.

“Music room’s this way, come on, Mr. Music Man.” Brendon skipped a little as he started walking. Ryan spluttered with laughter, amused despite himself. Mr. Music Man? He must have forgotten through the years how much of a dork Brendon was.

He followed dutifully, casting his eyes around the apartment. It was spacious, with several rooms and all with high ceilings, wooden floors and wide windows looking out on the city. The “music room” itself was merely a living room with a piano and multiple guitars stationed around, the couches looking at the balcony on the opposite wall of the room.

“It’s not actually soundproofed or anything, so I occasionally get complaints from downstairs, but, I like it.” Brendon shrugged, leaping over the couch and settling into it, patting the seat next to him and handing Ryan a guitar. “Let’s make some music.”

They spent hours fiddling on the guitars, showing each other riffs and segments of incomplete songs, bouncing ideas off of each other. It was so easy, they could almost forget everything in their history, could almost pretend that nothing had ever gone wrong.

By the time the sun was sinking over the hills, they almost had the full instrumental for a song written.

“That’s what I’m talking about, Ryan!” Brendon enthused. “We’re so great writing together!”

“Just like old times.” Ryan mused, offering a tentative smile.

“Mm.” Brendon brushed the comment off, laying his guitar down beside him. His eyes darted to the balcony, the city lights now twinkling in the distance as the night crept forwards. “Come on, I need some fresh air. The view’s beautiful at night anyway.”

Brendon leapt upwards, offering Ryan a hand. He took it, ignoring the leap in his stomach as their skin touched, Brendon’s calloused fingers wrapping around his own and the warmth seeping onto his skin. He pulled himself up by it, knocking the guitar sideways and onto the couch.

He didn’t think about the fact that Brendon didn’t let go of his fingers as they made it to the door. Didn’t think about the way he kept holding his hand as they looked out at the city, breathing in time.

They didn’t speak for a long time, merely stood, holding hands - _holding hands god dammit._

The nerves in Ryan’s fingers leapt with excitement. Ryan’s head swirled. He couldn’t quite believe any of what was happening.

He turned on his heel slightly, facing Brendon. He looked up at him, met his gaze.

Brendon glanced at their hands, the intertwined fingers. “I - we - we should talk about... about everything.”

“Should we?” Ryan shuffled forwards, a cloud of nervousness blooming in his throat. They were mere inches apart, their breath mingling.

“I mean - we wrote tonight like, like we used to and it was nice, it was good, and I kept thinking throughout it that there was other stuff that came with writing with you. I missed writing with you and...” Brendon looked up, his dark eyes swirling in Ryan’s mind.

“I know.” He breathed, letting their foreheads brush together. He moved his free hand slowly to the back of Brendon’s neck. “We both made mistakes. And,” Ryan took a shaky breath, and felt Brendon do the same. “And my biggest one was letting you walk away.”

Brendon closed his eyes. Swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

They locked their gazes. Ryan forgot any past regrets. Any lasting grudges. Any lingering doubts. His eyes drifted to Brendon’s lips. He pressed his body against Brendon’s, the warmth of his skin tingling as they touched. Ryan felt Brendon gasp softly in his ear.

He looked at him. Looked at his eyes, his hair, his nose, his mouth. He couldn’t restrain himself anymore. He couldn’t pretend not to want everything in front of him, couldn’t pretend he’d moved on.

“I’m going to kiss you.” Ryan whispered in Brendon’s ear.

He felt Brendon smile against his neck. “I know,” he breathed back.

Their lips connected. Ryan felt it with every fibre of his body as their lips connected. A desperate, boiling want filled his veins as he cupped Brendon’s face and kissed him - kissed him with all the passion and the hate and the regret and the love he had, kissed him.

His hand was shaking as he detangled it from Brendon’s, instead nudging his shirt upwards, laying it flat on the plane of his stomach. It was all too familiar as Brendon moaned softly against his mouth, too familiar as he felt Brendon’s mouth open, deepening the kiss until it was wet and intimate, his tongue cornering every inch of his mouth with a wanton lust that he hadn’t felt in a long time - in too long.

Brendon pulled back momentarily, and his eyes flicked to the sky behind Ryan’s head, his eyes reflected the bright orb of a full moon in the sky.

Ryan couldn’t be sure, but as Brendon leaned forwards again, pulled Ryan inwards and invited him closer, closer to his body, he could have sworn he heard Brendon whisper, “Lonely moonlight.”

He smiled to himself, as he let his tongue slip into Brendon’s mouth. He wasn’t going to be so lonely anymore.

 

 


End file.
